Seeking out the masks
by Philomena Kuroi
Summary: One of the CSIs becomes a serial rapistkiller's next victim, and the rest of the team has to follow a plethora of dead-end clues to find them. Angsty, violence later on, rape. Possible pairings later on. R


Hey there, this is my first CSI fic, so bare with me.

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, no I do not, not yet anyhoo.

Bright lights like a million gleaming stars flashed and glittered along the strip, over shadowing the few real stars that were beginning to make themselves known in the dimming light. A golden glow drifted over the more peaceful areas of Las Vegas, Nevada as the sun began to set over the dessert enclosed metropolis. It was a little short of half past six and already night life was beginning to drizzle out of the peaceful afternoon. The roads were just beginning to get clogged up, with people going to and from their jobs, whatever they may be. But other then the gentle rush, the area was quiet, for what it was.

Catherine Willows, head of the swing shift at Las Vegas CSI had just finished up the paper work for a homicide she had recently solved, and was now relaxing in the break room. The room was empty, apart from her, and she basked in its quiet serenity. Half a pot of coffee was sitting idle on the machine, still warm. Pouring herself a mug of the dark liquid, she slumped down in a plush chair in front of the small table. Hardly had she pressed the mug to her lips when a high pitched ringing alerted her of a phone call. Setting the mug down on a coaster, she pulled her small black phone from her pocket, and gave it a warning glare as if that would stop it ringing. Yet still it rang on. She briefly considered not replying, and letting whatever case she had wait until tomorrow…or next week. But finally, as it began to ring a third time, she pressed the green button and brought the phone to her ear.

"Willows." She stated, exhaustion well disguised in her voice. She listened intently to the voice on the other line. "Ok. I'll be right there." She said finally. She sighed heavily and stood up, slipping the cell back into the left hand pocket of her tan jacket.

"No rest for the wicked." She muttered walking out the door, leaving her untouched mug for whoever should have the joy of a break next.

Catherine drove for about seven minutes before arriving at her destination, a newish Church amidst a red bricked neighbourhood not far from the strip. She got out of her car, quickly grabbing her travel kit, and began walking down the concrete path to the detective awaiting her.

"Brass?" She questioned in confusion, "I think you've got the wrong shift." The man smirked and shrugged,

"Your guy went home sick, so I came in early. Being the nice, considerate person I am." He said, a small smile playing on his lips. She smirked in return, shaking her head as he lifted up the yellow police line for her. He followed her under and spoke again,

"One DB, no ID." He stated, pausing outside the wooden doors. "Priest found him when he was coming in for Communion, at about six. Guy says he went straight outside and got the police, he's over there." The detective indicated over to where to policemen were talking to a distressed blond man, dressed clearly in priest attire.

"Well, let's go in." Catherine said, reaching for the door handle.

"Alright, though it's not a pretty sight." Replied the man. He wasn't lying.

The Church wasn't old, or new. It looked to have been built in the late 80's, designed to mimic a gothic style. It was made from grey bricks, and elaborate stained glass windows provided light, along with faux candle electric lights. The double doors were made from a dark hardwood, with recently re-painted black iron handles and a small shutter just below Catherine's eye-level. Ten rows of wooden benches rested upon the fake marble flooring. The rows had a split in the middle, down which a red velvet carpet lay, pinned down by iron bars. This carpet stretched from the doors to the altar, which was atop a three stepped platform at the front of the church. The altar was just like most others in that area, hardwood with a white cloth and green and gold runner. Upon it was a statue of Jesus on the cross, two candles and a leather bound copy of the Bible. Behind the altar was a brightly coloured painting of Mary and her child, made to look like a Renaissance piece, badly made to look like one. Other then that, there was only a Lectern, to the left of the Altar, a confession booth in a small alcove, a stone font, and an air conditioning unit not far from the door. At the moment though, this Church was a crime scene.

Catherinebit her lipas she entered, it _wasn't_ a pretty sight. Blood or some other liquid red substance spattered the walls, though not entirely. On three of the four walls (all except the one behind the altar); _You Can't Catch Me_ was written once, surrounded by _HA HA HA_ written multiple times, all in blood. On the wall behind the altar was a tally, two sets of four vertical lines, both crossed through by a diagonal line. 10. The writing was small, the letters bigger than normal writing, but not massive. Only the tally was overly big, each line measuring about a metre long. The victim, a man dressed in only a pair a leather trousers, lay on the red carpet, in the gap down the centre of the benches. He was on his side, facing away from Catherine and the detective, leaning towards to floor. He was near the front of the rows, laying somewhere between the second and third rows from the altar. Crimson blood pooled beneath him, seeping through the carpet and onto the floor.

The blonde woman sighed, and began taking pictures with the large black camera that hung around her neck. After taking a few pictures of the victim, how he was, she moved to take pictures of the walls.

"No sign of a struggle, no spatter." She stated, not looking at the man she was talking to and taking another picture.

"So, he was moved." Brass finished, moving forward to where she was. Catherine quickly finished taking photos of the scene and moved to the body. Kneeling beside the victim, she placed a hand on his bare and bloody shoulder. Slashes and deep stab wounds covered the skin, along with bruises and clearly broken bones. And she was only looking at his back. Turning him over slowly, she let out a small yelp at what she saw. The victim was wearing a mask, covering his entire face. The mouth was open on it, and made to look like an over done happy face, making it really quite scary. The eye holes were slitted, and she couldn't see the victim's eyes very well. The nose of the mask was delicately pointed. The mask was a rotten brown, like the colour of driftwood. The mouth was lined with red paint and fresco decorations of bugs were scattered over the work. One centipede like bug looked to be crawling out of one of the eye holes, and another, like a caterpillar seemed to come from a hole in the wood. There were a few other bugs on the mask: a cockroach on the right cheek, a woodlouse under the left eye and a shield beetle on the forehead. Other then being a tad on the creepy side, the mask was stunningly well done. Every detail seemed perfect, and the bugs looked almost real.

"I gotta get Grissom one of these." She muttered, taking another photo. Carefully, she untied the lace strap and proceeded to lift the mask off. She had to bite her lip to keep from gasping again at the face beneath the mask, but she couldn't hold back a wince at it. The man's eyes were open, and fear was still apparent in them beneath the misty glaze. His mouth was slightly open, and a long cut made its way up from the left corner of it, reaching to his ear. Beneath his right eye, two tear drops were carved-the lower one bigger-into the victim's skin. Several other cuts covered his face, some seemingly new; some were already scabbed and partially healed. The man looked to be in his early thirties, late twenties and sported a mess of ginger hair. His eyes were an icy blue, and seemed piercing in the fading light.

Catherine let out a long sigh and stood up, after taking a few more photos, and let David take care of the body. Once he had left with the victim, she turned to Brass,

"This is just wrong." She said, shaking her head. The man replied with a sigh and a nod.

"What do you suppose the tally means? Ten. Ten what?" He asked, aware that she probably couldn't give him a good answer yet, but they both had a gut feeling they didn't want to know.

"Well, it's our job to find that out." She paused, "Once Nick and Warrick are finished on their case, I'm putting them on this. Something tells me this is going to be a tough one." As the sun sank further and further behind the tall buildings and flashing lights, she processed the scene, collecting possible evidence, whilst her coffee back at the lab got colder and colder.

Hope you enjoyed it, please review kindly.


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